The libertarian, the apostate, the resolutionist
by Elleblr
Summary: A collection of one-shot prompt-fills all based on Anders - all set in the same universe as Held Together; there will be some overlap so it may be worthwhile to read HT as well.
1. A Manifesto

**On the Rights and Freedoms of Mages: A Manifesto**

The Chantry would have you fear us, yet we are as you: We long for love, life and liberty. We desire the freedom every man, woman, and child born in Thedas have as a natural right.

It is the Maker who creates mages, and Andraste fought for all men, for "All men are the work of our Maker's hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. - Transfigurations 1" She does not differentiate between men and mages for it is clear that all mages are men also. The Chantry denies that Andraste was a powerful mage, yet she was able to wield power in the Makers name to force back the Imperium which had enslaved her and attacked her homelands:

"Those who oppose thee  
>Shall know the wrath of heaven.<br>Field and forest shall burn,  
>The seas shall rise and devour them,<br>The wind shall tear their nations  
>From the face of the earth,<br>Lightning shall rain down from the sky. - _Andraste 7"_

The Chantry was built by men, by Kordillus Drakon, the first emperor of Orlais. He, with the Divine Justina I, declared the free use of magic as illegal except by those mages operating under the auspices of the Chantry. Denying mankind the gift of the maker;

"Foul and corrupt are you  
>Who have taken My gift<br>And turned it against My children. - _Transfigurations 18_"

Further perverting Andraste's words; "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. - _Transfigurations 1_" to mean that all mages must be prisoners, must be slaves to the Chantry's vanity as they destroyed all evidence of Andraste's magic. The healing properties of her ashes alone attest to the strength of her power, that yet the magic is strong after all these ages. She was a great and powerful mage which the Chantry denies to serve its own means, to hold the mages as slaves rather than build a society where men are free to pursue simple goals, and live simple lives without fear of Maker given gifts. Are there no more damning words for this atrocious behaviour than;

"Those who bring harm  
>Without provocation to the least of His children<br>Are hated and accursed by the Maker. - _Transfigurations 1_"

Andraste would not see mages abused by the Chantry, she would not have them enslaved for being what they are. Maleificar's must be punished, in this world and the next, for they are foul and corrupt and have "taken His gift and turned it against His children. - _Transfigurations 1_" Yet nowhere does Andraste say that all mages ought to be treated as potential Maleificars, to be kept locked in prisons and denied family and freedom. Denied even the freedom to fall in love lest they have a mage child.

The time has come for the Circle of Magi to take back control, to revel in the glory of Andraste and to use their Maker given gifts to help their fellow men, for us to live together to help each other, to build a world where mage children can stay with their families whilst learning to harness their powers with able teachers. And to go out to make valid contributions in the world like any other man rather than shackled to Chantry and templars.

A Friend

**On the Rites and Freedoms of Mages: A Manifesto**

The abuses against mages are many. However the most horrific is the Rite of Tranquillity. You will know The Tranquil, they are part of the Formari and can be found selling goods on behalf of the Circle. What you may not know is how the Rite of Tranquillity works, and how it is misused. To be made tranquil is to have your connection to the Fade severed, you would perhaps think of it as your ability to dream and to feel emotions. A Tranquil no longer dreams, they no longer care for anything or anyone, themselves included. They are like docile cattle herded and cared for on the whims of templar jailers. The tranquil are the most pitiful slaves, altered to never know their situation, destined to live their lives without hope, without love.

This disgusting travesty is considered an act of kindness if a mage is considered too weak – with NO PROOF. Often it is used as a means of submission, mages who question their circle prison or their templar jailers are kept quiet with threats of Tranquillity and when that doesn't work they are made tranquil for daring to speak out. How can peaceful change ever occur when intelligent debate is robbed from those very mages who would wish to discuss their situation? When the channels of debate are silenced by a lyrium brand? The Chantry, the Templars, the Circle conspire to force every mage in Thedas into a dozen life or death situations each day, where they are fighting for the sake of their own minds, their own ability to decide. Should they speak up when they are beaten unjustly or will they be made tranquil? Should they speak up when they are raped or will they be made tranquil? Should they speak up when they are locked in solitary confinement for a year or will they be made tranquil?

A Friend


	2. Cheeky

Keeping as far from the imperial highway as possible they make their way through villages and towns, always vigilant, skittish and alert to the slightest flash of sun on metal. Smouldering estates and burnt out villages litter their path as they push towards the coast, more striking is the lack of people their, _his_, own age. You can rebuild a house, rebuild a village, _you can't rebuild a person_ despite what demons might whisper.  
>They've stopped for the first time in days, a small village, not more than a couple of shacks with <em>thank the maker<em> no chantry. Legs throbbing, feet twitching from the lack of movement, and a burning fever wracking through them they slump beneath a tree. Pure energy has brought them this far, but there are limits, and as they start snoring it's clear that they've reached theirs for now.

His sister warned him away from strangers, they're dangerous, they've run from the army, they're bad men; they want to rob him, or hurt her, or him. He doesn't believe her and this one doesn't look very dangerous anyway. He looks like that doll he'd 'borrowed', all folded up and wearing a dress. _This'll be so much fun_ He takes a couple of steps closer and yes, this one's asleep. He looks around and there is no one else about. _How to wake him up?_ He inches forward a step at a time until he's just beyond arms reach of the man, not that he's very manly looking, if it wasn't for the beard he'd think it was a woman with all that girly long hair. He stares at the slumbering lump wandering what to do next, he flicks his eyes across the horizon _no one there_, and a quick look over his shoulder _all clear_ and bravely steps forward to give the sleeping man a poke in the shoulder. _Nothing_. He reaches for some pebbles, and throws them underarm at the prone figure, watching as they drop with no reaction against the legs, the back, and the arms. He thinks about throwing one at the head, but decides that would get him a beating when he wakes up. He kicks the ground, scuffing dirt into a cloud. _So bored… wake up you maker taker_. He picks up a stick _there we go_ he shoves the shoulder, the man slumps over onto his side, he smirks, _that'll wake him_, he's bracing to outrun the smack he's sure will be aimed his way but his eagerness and his grin vanishes _Shit – so much blood_, and is replaced by fear as he runs back to the village screaming.

The noise wakes them; they need to move on again. Always to the coast. Their hand reaches for the letters in their pocket. Kirkwall.


	3. Words

It was more than the warmth and the sighing into the night, it was the words.

Lazily rolling and pressing, gathering momentum, they reached through the years to where this ought to have begun.

On through the night they lay together, claiming what was always theirs.

Vibrations drawing hot breaths and muted murmurs from them.

Eventually they slowed as the grey dawn illuminated the room, windows misted from their efforts.

Yearning, he needed this moment, he needed to find the words, to finally say them out loud.

Only he never thought he would.

Until now.


	4. Silence

Evening's selfless gift

Surrenders a burning sun;

Now alone again.


End file.
